


Nothing In Nature Now Lies Unblooded

by ClydeThistles



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Art, F/F, Non-Witcher Lore, Vampire History, Vampires, Yennaia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: Requested Vampire AU with Elder Tissaia and newly-turned Yennefer.Title taken from Charles Baudelaire's poem 'The Fountain of Blood'.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 27
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [airotsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/airotsa/gifts).



Tissaia straightens the frame on the Collier piece and steps back to appraise it. She smiles, this is one of her favourites, not least because it is not outrageously offensive like some of the other ones. Her lips thin with distaste as she eyes the collection of clippings that showcase the artwork from Varney the Vampire. She mutters to herself as she polishes the glass casing that houses the line drawings and engravings,

“Ridiculous, utter nonsense!”

Still, they are a part of the history she is curating and the archivist in her will not allow for anything to be censored, no matter how insensitive. The exhibition is almost ready and opens to the public tomorrow, an entire hall of the museum dedicated to ‘Vampires Through the Ages’ as part of the Halloween events the director had thought might attract younger viewers. Satisfied that all is in order, Tissaia turns off the lights and makes her way through the archway, patting the head of the fanged-child gargoyle replicated from a statue in a temple in Bali as she walks past it.

“Night, Winston.”

She has named it Winston for its impressively wide forehead which rivals that of the waxwork in the ‘VE Day’ exhibition upstairs. No doubt Churchill fans would be appalled but Tissaia enjoys the irreverence of it. The nightguard is finishing his rounds and nods to her, well acquainted with her late-night working habits. And he is aware of the unwritten but unquestioned stipulation that Tissaia has access to all parts of the museum, day or night. Not even the director has as many keys on his ring as Tissaia does, no nook or cranny of the old building unknown to her. If you asked anyone on the museum staff how long she had headed the restoration and curating team for the _Legends, Mythology and Folklore_ department they would reply vaguely,

“I’m not sure how long exactly… I know she’s been here _years_ , she’s practically part of the architecture!”

And there would be no underlying snideness to their comment, only a fond respect. Tissaia is part of the museum, cherished and considered essential, as vital as the caryatids that support the rib vault ceiling in the main hall. Tissaia takes the little back staircase, past the organ loft (genius, in her opinion, to install an organ in a museum, music and art all in once space) and up the spiralling wrought-iron steps that lead to the attics.

Most of the attic space is bare beams, dustsheets covering artwork and sculptures unlikely to ever see the light of day again. If an exhibit is stored in the climate-controlled basement vaults, it will be displayed again. If it is hauled up to the attics, its status as ‘art’ has been rescinded. In a set of rooms to the western corner however, there are smooth wooden floorboards covered in Persian rugs, Ruben tapestries gracing the bare walls, Ming vases set on French Regency coffee tables, a large squishy sofa in front of an ornate cast-iron fireplace complete with Delft tiles. It should be an eyesore, so many styles crammed into one space, but it has been done artfully and ends up feeling like a teaser trailer of all the best the world has created in the last three thousand years. Tissaia kicks off her shoes and hangs her coat on the outstretched hand of a Classical Greco marble statue. She stretches the kink from her neck and decides she will have a cocktail to celebrate finishing the exhibition. The vodka is chill from the fridge and she slices a lemon in half, strips the leaves from a celery stick, retrieves the Worcestershire and olives from the cupboard. But where most people would reach for the tomato juice, she opens the fridge and takes out a an environmentally friendly re-usable pint packet filled with blood. It is not human - she has been clean for over fifty years. There is a butcher in the nearby open-air market who asks no questions and delivers twelve pints of pig blood every four days. She’d normally warm it but the vodka thins the blood enough to drink it cold without it being congealed. As she dashes some lemon into it and stirs with the celery, she feels her nostrils quivering – the equivalent of a human’s stomach rumbling. The old urge to consume and bite and ravage still threatens as an undercurrent but Tissaia prides herself on her discipline and makes herself sit with her feet up before sipping the drink rather than lapping it straight out of the container, crimson streaks dripping down her chin. She shudders at the memories, before she had reformed, before she had learnt to control the animalistic instincts that other vampires seem to relish. Now, if she must be a monster, she will do so with dignity. Pulling an authentic Georgian silk shawl round her shoulders, she settles back and reaches for the remote, selecting the catch-up option and smiling as the programme about young midwives on bicycles that she enjoys starts up.

Yennefer twitches and rubs her eyes, trying to scrub away the dizziness and dark spots in her vision. It’s been almost a week and she’s starting to feel faint, the tiniest movement feeling like a marathon. She’s tried eating food, but it doesn’t help. Her normally copper skin has gone pale and waxy, her black hair lank and flat rather than its usual lustrous curls. She knows what she needs but she has no clue how to go about getting it. One doesn’t just walk up to a stranger and try to bite them, surely? What would she know? It’s not like she’s ever done this before, or that the bitch who did this to her left behind an instruction manual. Yennefer had been enjoying a night out, minding her own business. Well actually, she’d been fingering an insanely hot woman up against a bathroom stall but that didn’t constitute causing trouble, did it? And accepting said woman’s offer to move things to her flat had not been an entirely stupid idea, had it? Yennefer had been tipsy and horny, more than a little turned on by the kinky predilections of her one-night stand. Handcuffed and naked, black candles the only light in the room, Yennefer had been trying not to draw parallels between her current situation and that cringey episode of ‘The L-Word’ where Alice thinks she’s fucking a vampire. And then she’d been thinking nothing at all because she was coming ridiculously hard after being edged for far too long. Just as she’d reached the crest of the wave of her pleasure, she’d felt teeth nipping at the tendons in her neck and arched up into it. And then, pain, a burning sensation spreading down her throat, wet, sucking sounds frightening and arousing her in equal measure.

The next thing she remembers is waking up alone in a strange bed with the mother-of-all headaches and two puncture marks in her neck. She’d staggered home and has been in a feverish, ever-worsening nightmare since. The pavement is crowded and she’s sweltering in the long sleeves and black scarf she’s wrapped round her face. Because vampires melt in the sun, right? Panicking that she will end up a congealed puddle of goo she makes her way into the nearest public building, which is blessedly cool and dim, echoey halls with high-vaulted ceilings filled with a peaceful hush. Yennefer stumbles to the coffee bar and buys a bottle of water, trying to ignore the overwhelming scent of the young woman behind the till. Not her perfume or shampoo but the smell of the rich, hot blood coursing under her skin. Yennefer wants nothing more than to stretch her pretty neck and sink her teeth into the network of blue veins visible through her milky skin. The water does nothing to relieve her hunger, but it does cool her hands and face a little. Avoiding getting close enough to people for their scent to reach her, she makes her way to the first dark, empty space she can find. Only to laugh bitterly as she sees the title of the exhibition she has inadvertently walked into. She stares at a black and white drawing of a hooded figure sat on the edge of a bed, reaching out desperately to the sleeping woman in the sheets, a man wielding a sword barging through the door to smite the evil predator. And then jumps when a short, dark-haired woman appears at her shoulder,

“An unusually sympathetic portrayal, don’t you think? One could almost feel sorry for the Carmilla figure in this one.”

Yennefer cannot reply because the woman smells divine. If she had thought the other people smelt irresistible then this woman is pure torture. And even though her rational brain is screaming it is a bad idea, Yennefer nods eagerly when the woman invites her to the side-corridor to study another piece. She knows it will cause pandemonium, that she will be on the run the rest of her life, that it will mean taking someone’s life. But nothing is going to stop Yennefer from pinning this woman to the wall as soon as they are out of sight and drinking her fill. She has to, she is dying, and a dark, visceral carnality is thrumming through her veins now, she wants, _needs_ , to _bite_ this woman.

Tissaia had not wanted to believe it when she had walked past and smelt the young woman in front of the Carmilla drawing. Another one. Some ignorant, selfish fool has turned someone on _her_ patch. Tissaia bristles, she will not stand for it. Her territory is a refuge for vampires wishing to live peacefully and she keeps it that way with an iron-clad rule – no biting. This one looks dreadful, still dazed and confused, no more than a week since she was turned. She has that strange half-human, half-vampire scent still and it is this that had caught Tissaia’s attention. She catches the desperate glint in the girl’s eyes when she invites her somewhere more secluded and sighs inwardly. She is getting too old to be dealing with this nonsense. The attack is clumsy, but desperation drives the girl and she succeeds in shoving Tissaia against the wall. Her lips part and her fangs appear in preparation for feeding, her nostrils flaring, her eyes widening and darkening. Tissaia does not struggle but waits until she leans in then grabs her by the hair and spins them, pinning her face-first against the 1970 _Dracula_ poster. The girl growls and gnashes her teeth, snapping at Tissaia’s wrists where they are holding her down. Tissaia pulls the younger vampire’s head back and lets her own fangs appear, hissing,

“Enough! Control yourself!”

It takes several moments but eventually, the girl quietens and then slumps as the bloodlust leaves her and the awful weakness returns. Tissaia props her up and strokes some hair from her sweaty forehead,

“Alright, my dear, let’s get you somewhere safe and something to eat.”

“Food doesn’t help.”

Tissaia laughs a little, “No, I’m afraid not. Come, I will not harm you.”

The girl dithers but comes to the conclusion that she’s not able to do stand upright under her own steam at the moment, much less win this battle of wills. She mutters moodily,

“It’s not like there’s much else you can do to me, I’m already screwed.”

Tissaia drapes the half-dead girl over her shoulders and walks them to her rooms, settling her on the sofa. She warms a half-pint in a saucepan, sprinkling in brown sugar and cinnamon because the taste of straight-up blood takes some getting used to. Then cradles her new charge against her chest, keeping her upright and holding the limited-edition blue Denby teacup against her lips for her,

“Drink.”

After the first tentative sip, she slurps greedily and Tissaia pulls the cup away,

“Slowly. Your system needs time to adjust, you’ll make yourself sick if you down it.”

The girl glowers but obeys, drinking in careful mouthfuls. When the cup is empty, she licks a drop from her lips and sighs,

“More.”

Tissaia lays her back down, “No.” Her patient snarls and Tissaia repeats firmly, “No. I’ll give you more later, it is best to start with small amounts. For now, rest.”

“Who are you?”

“You may call me Tissaia. What should I call you?”

“How about sweet-cheeks?”

Tissaia frowns, arching her eyebrows and the girl sighs, “You’ve got such a stick up your arse! My name is Yennefer. What’s going to happen? How did you know what I was? Will I ever-”

Tissaia interrupts, “Rest, Yennefer. You have eternity to ask your questions. But only if you survive your transformation. Do as I say and go to sleep.”

Yennefer’s eyes have widened, “Eternity? _If_ I survive? Huh! You sure know how to relax a girl before demanding she sleep! _If_ I survive? Tch!”

Her mutterings and grumblings trail off as exhaustion wins and she drifts off. Tissaia watches her and sighs, scrubbing her hand down her face. She cannot help smiling however when Yennefer snuffles and burrows further into the cushions with a contented sigh. Sweet-cheeks, honestly! Tissaia shakes her head in exasperation and goes to prepare more blood to keep drip-feeding Yennefer throughout the next twenty-four hours. Because while she may prefer that no new vampires are created, Tissaia refuses to abandon one if she finds them. And this one is well-worth saving she reckons.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer learns more about being a vampire  
> Warning: This chapter contains some mythology that may be offensive to followers of Abrahamic religions. It is included as a plot device and the general exploration of vampire lore and should not be taken as a commentary or belittling of anyone's beliefs.

“For fucks sake!”

The exclamation is followed by banging and muttering and Tissaia takes a deep breath to calm herself. Being rudely pulled from her meditation is not how she prefers to start her morning and her patience with Yennefer was already thinning before this latest inconvenience. She sighs and flexes her fingers to remove the itch from them, the itch that wants her to wrap the digits round Yennefer’s neck and squeeze. It’s only been three days since Tissaia had found her, but the younger vampire has already turned her life upside down and trodden all over her carefully arranged routine. Making her way to the kitchen she finds her personal nuisance in a cloud of flour with a tea towel wrapped round her hand. Tissaia grips the kitchen island to steady herself, the towel is a vintage William Morris in pure linen. And it now has a growing crimson patch blooming across it.

“What happened?”

“I was making pancakes and I cut myself – why are your knives so sharp? To slit people’s throats?”

“They are sharp because they are Japanese steel and I like to julienne my vegetables. The more pertinent question would be why did you stick your hand under said sharp knife?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose! I was cutting the block of butter and it slipped… ugh, I feel woozy…”

Tissaia grabs Yennefer by her elbows and manoeuvres her to sit on a breakfast stool, Yennefer steadying herself by planting her palm on Tissaia’s chest without hesitation. The white floury handprint on her black cashmere top threatens to give Tissaia a migraine. And then her head aches for another reason as she catches the scent of Yennefer’s blood. Because she smells delectable. Between the enticing aroma, the heat of her hand against Tissaia’s chest and the way her thighs have spread to allow the older vampire closer, Tissaia’s head is spinning, her nostrils flaring and fangs threatening to protrude. Stepping away to retrieve the first aid kit, Tissaia musters all her willpower and manages to unwrap the towel from Yennefer’s hand without growling or slavering. The cut isn’t that deep, just in an area with lots of little blood vessels. Yennefer squirms when Tissaia wipes at it with antiseptic,

“Owwww! Do you have to use that? I thought I was immortal now.”

“You can still get sepsis, just because you’re not going to die of old age doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

Yennefer jerks her hand away when Tissaia dabs with more antiseptic and the movement makes the cut well with fresh blood. To her horror, Tissaia groans and feels her fangs slide out from under her top lip. Yennefer looks up curiously,

“Are you alright?”

Tissaia snaps, “I’m fine! Just stop squirming!”

Her nostrils betray her however and Yennefer catches sight of them, “You’re hungry?”

Tissaia whimpers, “No…”

“But you want to taste me?” Yennefer holds her hand out, offering it to Tissaia, “I don’t mind.”

Tissaia turns her head away sharply, “Stop it Yennefer.”

“I honestly don’t mind, what harm can it do? I’m already turned.”

She catches a droplet on the tip of her finger and reaches up towards Tissaia’s mouth with it. Tissaia trembles and she almost succumbs but growls and slaps Yennefer’s hand away, stepping back curtly.

“I said _stop it_! You do not know what you offer, foolish child!”

Yennefer looks hurt and scowls, leaping up from the stool, “Don’t talk to me like that! You’re such a control freak! And how do you expect me to know? I barely know who I am, _what_ I am! And all you do is make me stay here in this attic like fucking Quasimodo and arch your goddamn eyebrows at me if I so much as sneeze!”

Tissaia rubs her temples and sighs, “Come with me.”

“What about my hand?”

Tissaia does not reply only nods at it, indicating Yennefer should look. When she does, the younger vampire’s jaw drops open. The wound is nothing more than a scratch, the skin and blood vessels already knitted back together.

“No shit!”

“Your regenerative abilities are coming along nicely. Which is not to say you should go about breaking your bones or amputating limbs on purpose. Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“I need to check on the exhibition and you have questions that need answered. We will do both.”

Yennefer pads after her in bare feet, her earlier bad mood forgotten in the fascination with her healing. Tissaia smirks gently as they reach the door,

“I suggest shoes, my dear.”

Yennefer blushes and retrieves her boots from where Tissaia had placed them neatly after removing them as Yennefer slept. It’s only been three days since she passed out on Tissaia’s couch, but Yennefer feels oddly nervous about re-entering the world. The attics have become her sanctuary (however much she likes to rail against being confined in them) and she dithers at the threshold. Tissaia reaches for her hand and pulls her,

“Come on. It’s not plastered across your forehead, I promise. No one will know. And you’ve eaten so it won’t be as overwhelming being around people and smelling them.”

As they stepping-stone across the beams to the spiral stairs, Yennefer asks,

“Does it ever go away?”

“No. But you learn to block it out, to have the discipline and willpower to overcome the urge to bite, to consume.”

“The one who turned me… she didn’t…”

Tissaia purses her lips, “No. And I will see to it that she is shown the consequences of her actions.”

Yennefer shivers at the steely glint in Tissaia’s eyes but she can’t resist pushing her buttons, “And what’s to stop me leaving and deciding to do the same? What if I want the real thing not the morally-superior alternative?”

Tissaia turns and looks her straight in the eyes, “Then I suggest you make sure your victims die rather than turn. Because, trust me, it would be a kindness. You experienced for yourself what it feels like to be turned and left alone. If you believe you can live with yourself after killing someone to satisfy your hunger, then nothing I say will change that.”

Tissaia turns to keep walking but Yennefer yanks her back by the hand, “Show me how to not be a monster then.”

And the smile that slowly creeps across the older vampire’s ageless face makes Yennefer’s heart flip-flop. She grins to herself, laying her palm across her own chest to feel the thud-thud. She might be undying, but she’s just discovered her breath can still be taken away. Biting her cheeks to wipe the stupid grin off her face, she hurries after Tissaia down the stairs,

“So, what’s the big deal with tasting my blood?”

Tissaia blushes and clears her throat, “One does not share blood with a vampire one is not…on intimate terms with.”

Yennefer can’t help chuckling, “You mean I basically groped you?”

“That would be one way of saying it, yes.”

Tissaia self-consciously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and it is beyond endearing. Yennefer finds herself shortening her stride so she can fall into step with her and notices for the first time that there are lighter chestnut and auburn threads in the dark chocolate of her hair. When she spies the dimple in Tissaia’s chin she knows she is lost, and her blood starts to race with a different sort of hunger.

There are several groups of people milling about in the exhibition and Yennefer panics momentarily but quickly discovers that if she stays close enough to Tissaia, the scent of her drowns out everyone else. And if this safety measure happens to mean she has an excuse to plaster herself to Tissaia’s side, Yennefer is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Some teenagers are sniggering at a full-length portrait of a naked woman with a snake entwined about her but Tissaia walks up to them and soon has them spellbound as she explains the story behind it. Yennefer creeps closer and finds herself entranced also, Tissaia’s voice rising and falling in rich cadences, her eyes animated and hands shaping the air as though the characters were being formed in front of them.

“This is Collier’s depiction of Lilith. Lilith is known throughout vampire lore, sometimes she is their queen, sometimes the original vampire, sometimes the wife of Lucifer who later became the fallen angel known as Satan. The earliest records of her, however, are found in Hebrew mythology where she is cited as Adam’s first wife, created from the earth just as he was. Adam was dissatisfied however as she refused to be subservient to him, arguing they were created equal. She left the Garden of Eden and could not be brought back, not even by archangels sent to retrieve her, instead negotiating with them for her freedom. And so, Eve was created from Adam’s rib that he may have a companion who was inferior to him. And Lilith became known as a creature of darkness, blamed for neonatal deaths, lustful thoughts, nocturnal emissions and regarded as the mother of all demons through her relations with fallen archangel Samael. There’s even theories that it was she who seduced Eve and convinced her to pick the apple, not a serpent.”

The teenagers are staring open-mouthed and no doubt their parents will be sending letters of complaint to the museum but Tissaia just straightens her lapels and continues,

“Of course, all the records and teachings were written and stipulated by men so for all we know, she was the world’s first feminist and vilified for it.” She grins wolfishly, “I personally quite like the idea of headstrong woman being in charge of all the demons, just waiting to unleash hell the day she gets fed up of it all.”

Yennefer snorts as some of the boys in the group shift nervously but Tissaia must decide to take pity on them because she moves on to the Dracula posters and leaves rampant feminism to one side. The loudspeaker announces the museum is closing and the exhibition empties until only Tissaia and Yennefer are left.

“Is all that true?”

“Absolutely. Lilith is found across dozens of cultures in one form or another. Everyone thinks vampires are pale men with cloaks and slicked-back hair, but the first vampire was a gorgeous woman with long golden hair and a mind of her own.”

Yennefer pulls out her phone, “Alright selfie time. What do you reckon? One with Lilith and another with Winston? What even is that statue?”

“It’s a replica of one found in a temple in Bali. Fanged children with wings, thousands of miles from any of the Western gargoyles that might have influenced it. The stories have to come from somewhere, don’t you think?”

“You don’t have to convince me vampires are real… I’ve been hit in the face with empirical evidence recently.”

Yennefer snaps a photo in front of the portrait and then frowns, swiping at the screen frantically. Tissaia looks at her with pity and waits for the penny to drop.

“I…I’m not in the photo… wait, the stuff about us not having reflections – that’s not true, is it?”

Tissaia nods, “No reflections and we don’t show up on any images. Not ones created digitally anyway.”

Yennefer looks crestfallen, “But what about my Instagram?”

Tissaia looks at her blankly and Yennefer crosses her arms in a huff. She holds her phone out again and looks close to tears, “I can’t even see myself on the screen! How do I check if I have spinach in my teeth?”

Tissaia smirks, “Do you even eat spinach? I thought you were allergic to anything green.”

Yennefer scowls and swipes at her eyes furtively making Tissaia soften and squeeze her arm gently, “You’ll get used to it. It’s liberating actually to stop wondering about your appearance. I can’t even remember what I look like.”

“Not at all? Don’t you even have photographs from before you turned?”

“We didn’t have cameras when I was a girl.”

Yennefer does a double take, “Wait, just how old are you?”

Tissaia does a little curtsey, bowing her head gracefully, “Suffice to say I read Pride & Prejudice when it was first published.”

Yennefer grins wickedly and wriggles her eyebrows, “I knew I had a thing for older women, but this takes things to new heights.”

Tissaia registers what she is implying and blushes, pretending to study a painting of a Lamia seducing a knight. Yennefer does an inward dance of glee – Tissaia is not immune to flattery and Yennefer can play this game better than anyone.

“I don’t imagine she’d get much seducing done with him in that suit of armour. She’d need a tin-opener to get anywhere close to the good stuff.”

Tissaia makes an odd squeaking noise and walks hurriedly away, calling over her shoulder, “We should eat, I’ll go make something.”

Yennefer smiles and twirls a curl round her finger – eternity just got rather interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia and Yennefer discover more of each other.  
> Huge thank you to @airotsa for requesting this AU!

In the time it takes Yennefer to make her way back upstairs (ok, maybe she got side-tracked by the organ but who passes up the opportunity to make a racket on one of those things?) Tissaia has prepared their evening blood as well as some food. They do not need to eat food but as Tissaia had said when Yennefer questioned it,

“Why would you not? Just because I do not need to eat to survive does not mean I cannot enjoy good food.”

And she is an absolute wizard in the kitchen, Yennefer is certain her waist has thickened by several inches already, her jeans snugger than they used to be. Tissaia is packing the last of her creation into a Fortnum & Mason wicker picnic basket that probably cost more than Yennefer’s rent on her old flat. But, again, Tissaia had asked,

“Why not? I love beautiful things. And humans are such wonderful creators, inventors, thinkers, artists and engineers. Not a day goes by when I do not marvel at what they are capable of. Good and bad.”

And so, it should not be a surprise that even her picnicware is in the most excellent taste, stylish but practical, eye-catching but not gaudy.

Yennefer eyes the basket warily, “We’re not going outside, are we?”

“That is generally where one has picnics. What’s wrong?”

“It’s still daylight… won’t we burn?”

Yennefer tries not to scowl as Tissaia bursts out laughing, “Is that why you were wearing that ridiculous scarf and oversized sunglasses when I found you? And long sleeves in the middle of summer?”

Yennefer shrugs, “I thought I’d melt if I didn’t hide myself from the sun…”

Tissaia hands her a plaid blanket and some shawls, “You won’t melt or anything else other than normal sunburn.”

“Do we at least glitter like in _Twilight_?”

Tissaia pinches the bridge of her nose and groans, Yennefer steps towards her concerned, “Are you alright?”

“Fine. It’s just even the mention of that ridiculous franchise makes my head ache… glittering in the sun I ask you! And as for collaborating with werewolves? Huh! Good luck trying to get any sense out of those buffoons.”

“Werewolves are real? Can I meet one? Are they hot like in the movies?”

Yennefer grins and Tissaia glares at her, “Now you’re just riling me up on purpose!”

“You’re cute when you get that exasperated look on your face, you can’t blame a girl for wanting to see it more often.”

Tissaia is rarely speechless but her mouth goldfishes and she becomes suddenly fascinated with the edging on the basket. Yennefer would laugh if it weren’t doing all sorts of delicious things to her insides seeing the normally unflappable and eloquent vampire looking so shy. Anxious not to scare Tissaia away or make her overly uncomfortable she removes the teasing edge from her voice,

“Would you like me to carry the basket?”

Tissaia flashes a devious grin and clambers up into the round window with leaded panes, swinging it open.

“I’ll send down a rope for it when I reach the top. Leave the window open behind you.”

“The top?”

Tissaia just grins again and disappears out the window which is at least six storeys up and set into the base of the dome that tops the museum. Yennefer hurries over and leans out to see Tissaia scaling the ladder that curves over the cupola and leads to the little belfry. Yennefer cannot keep the nervous crack from her voice as she shouts up,

“That one about vampires being able to fly – true or false?”

Tissaia laughs and shouts back, “Let go and you’ll find out.”

And Yennefer sighs because after all the teasing she has been doing, that was the answer she deserved. When a rope suddenly swings down, she nearly plummets to her death (or at least to a very painful few weeks) when she fumbles through the window to grab it. Knotting the basket and blanket to it she tugs and watches as it gets hauled up effortlessly. Tissaia must be stronger than she looks. Her voice echoes down to Yennefer,

“Come on my dear, let me see those long legs of yours put to good use.”

And that only makes her knees wobble more because she had not anticipated the effect Tissaia flirting _back_ would have on her. Gritting her teeth, Yennefer steps out onto the rung nearest the window ledge and locks her hands round the sides of the ladder. Tissaia’s head pops up at the top of the ladder,

“Don’t be afraid. Your balance and strength will have intensified, try climbing and you’ll feel the difference.”

Yennefer takes a few tentative steps and, sure enough, feels like she’s strolling along flat ground rather than scaling a steep ladder. Emboldened, she scampers up the remaining rungs before Tissaia has time to pull her head back and ends up nose-to-nose with the older vampire. Tissaia blinks slowly but does not pull away and Yennefer reaches a hand up to brush away some stray hair blown across her forehead by the breeze. Tissaia’s eyes drift shut at the touch and Yennefer wants nothing more than to kiss her but she’s not certain her knees will hold out, so she settles for stroking down her face and murmuring,

“Is this where you keep your bats?”

Tissaia’s eyes snap open and she smacks Yennefer round the side of her head, “Only those of the baseball variety for disciplining whippersnappers like you.”

She smiles though and reaches out a hand to help Yennefer up over the final rung and into the belfry. It’s empty, its bells long taken down, but the floor is new wooden panels and the colonnade around its circumference is in good condition. It’s one of the tallest buildings in the city’s skyline so their view is unimpeded all the way to the river and the sun creeping westwards. Yennefer sighs,

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

Yennefer turns and finds Tissaia staring at her rather than the view and blushes at the appreciative gleam in the Elder’s eyes. They spread the blanket and settle themselves, Tissaia pouring hot blood from a thermos and handing it to Yennefer. Yennefer drinks greedily, still prone to the bloodlust that flares whenever she feeds. When she lowers her cup, she feels a drop trickling down her chin and reaches for one of the intricately folded napkins but Tissaia stop her,

“Those are pristine, white linen – don’t you dare wipe at blood with them.”

“Then what do you suggest I do? Sit here with a dripping muzzle like a beast?”

Tissaia reaches out and wipes at Yennefer’s chin with her thumb, running it over her lips even after the blood is gone and murmurs,

“There. All better.”

Yennefer feels her fangs digging into her bottom lip and her nostrils flaring so she whimpers,

“Take your hand away. I can’t…I want… Tissaia, stop.”

The other vampire doesn’t move quick enough so Yennefer snarls and turns herself away, wrapping her arms round her knees, her cheeks flaming with shame. She’s trembling half with desire and half with the bloodlust and hates that she has so little control over herself.

“Yennefer…”

“Don’t! I nearly bit you, I wanted to sink my teeth into your wrist and drink until you were dead. I can’t do this! I can’t play whatever game this is if it means I risk hurting you.”

Tissaia is usually a cautious individual never doing a thing on impulse but something about Yennefer must make her reckless. That is the only explanation for why she reaches out to stroke her hair when everything (even the girl herself) is urging her to keep her distance. It is a mistake. Yennefer jumps up as though scalded and hurries over to the colonnade,

“Don’t touch me!”

Time seems to slow as Tissaia watches her cross the small space in too many steps, nowhere for her anxious feet to take her other than off the edge of the building. She sees the wobble as Yennefer’s brain registers the plunging drop, the frantic windmill of her arms to try and backpedal. With heightened reflexes and speed, Tissaia reaches her when no human could have done. She wraps her arms round Yennefer from behind and pulls her close, holding her from teetering off the lip and crashing to the ground far below.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

And to her own embarrassment, Yennefer starts to cry. Tissaia guides them away from the edge still holding Yennefer from behind then turns her in her arms, Yennefer jack-knifing over her shoulder and clutching at the fabric of her shirt as she sobs. Tissaia rubs her back soothingly, murmuring sweet nothings until she has calmed a little. Then leads her by the hand to the blanket, Tissaia sitting with her back against a column and Yennefer snuggling into her chest, still hiccupping and sniffling. They sit until the sun has set and they are cold and stiff even with the shawls round them. Yennefer raises herself from where she had slid even further down, her head resting in Tissaia’s lap,

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually such an emotional wreck.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s a lot to process. I’m sorry for pushing you out of your comfort zone. You did well to resist and tell me rather than giving in.” She strokes through Yennefer’s hair lightly, “And you wouldn’t hurt me if you did bite me. Vampires feeding off each other does no harm, in fact there are those who find it enjoyable. Of course, it is polite to wait until invited so I do appreciate you holding back.”

Yennefer gives a watery smile, “We should get back inside.” Biting her lower lip nervously, she takes Tissaia’s hand in between her own and rubs it, “Your hands are freezing.”

Watching for any hesitation on Tissaia’s part, Yennefer lifts her hand up to her lips and blows on it to warm her. She can smell, even hear, the blood running in the veins under her mouth but she chooses to focus instead on the smell of ink and lemon that lingers on Tissaia’s fingers, the slight tremble in her hand. Tissaia shivers and her eyes gleam again making Yennefer’s stomach jolt. She seems to come to a decision and stands purposefully, pulling Yennefer up with her.

“Where are we going?”

“Back inside.”

“The ladder’s that way.”

Tissaia smirks and with uncanny speed picks Yennefer up by her waist, leaping off the edge of the belfry. Yennefer shrieks and shuts her eyes but opens them one by one when she doesn’t hit the ground. Tissaia is watching her with amusement floating casually in mid-air, arms still locked round her waist. Yennefer splutters,

“You liar! You said we can’t fly!”

“I said no such thing. Do you want to try on your own?”

“If you let go of me, I will fucking kill you!”

Yennefer’s fingers scrabble at Tissaia and she wraps her legs round her, clinging on for dear life. Tissaia tuts,

“Any more of that language and I will drop you.”

“What do you want me to say then?”

Yennefer realises her mistake almost immediately as Tissaia grins wolfishly displaying her fangs,

“Tell me why you keep making suggestive comments.”

“You’re the one who was practically shoving your fingers into my mouth earlier!”

Tissaia arches her eyebrows and loosens her grip, Yennefer plastering herself to her and babbling,

“Alright, alright! I like you, I think you’re hot, I find myself being grateful I was turned because it means I get to spend eternity trying to figure you out. You confuse me, exasperate me, frighten me but you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever known, inside and out. Is that what you want to hear? That in the space of three days I’ve fallen head over heels for you?”

Tissaia does not reply immediately, instead swooping down to the window and setting Yennefer down on trembling legs. Yennefer barely has time to catch her breath before strong hands are cupping the back of her neck, pulling her down so warm lips can brush against her ear, hot, damp breath ghosting over her neck as Tissaia whispers,

“It is _exactly_ what I want to hear.”

Tissaia cannot quite believe the words coming out of her mouth nor the fierce hunger that is pounding through her. It has been decades, centuries even, since she lost this much control. She’d made a ridiculous noise and ran away when Yennefer had started flirting with her earlier today. Not because she was averse to it or some blushing maiden. Arousal is not a subtle event with vampires, there is the usual physiological responses of an increased heartrate and feeling herself growing wet but there is also the much more obvious indicator of her fangs appearing. So, if she happened to scurry away with a hand pressed against her mouth it was only because she’d been in a predicament similar to a man with an ill-timed erection and not out of any sense of modesty or being flustered. And now, here she is, fangs bared and pressing herself against Yennefer, saying wonderful, dreadful things.

“You awaken feelings I thought long forgotten, my dear, it is gratifying to know they are reciprocated.”

Yennefer decides it is entirely unfair that Tissaia can still pull out vocabulary like ‘gratifying’ and ‘reciprocated’ even as she trembles in her hands and her breath catches in her throat. To remedy this, Yennefer presses their lips together, stealing any further clever words away. The supple warmth of Tissaia’s lips under her own is heavenly and Yennefer eagerly flicks with her tongue requesting access only to feel her knees buckle as Tissaia slides into her mouth and flutters the tip of her tongue against Yennefer’s. Her hands have just come up to cradle Tissaia’s head when Yennefer attempts to nip at her lower lip as she would normally do when making out with someone. Tissaia yelps and pulls back, nursing her lip which is bleeding heavily from where Yennefer had unintentionally pierced her with a fang.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that! Are you alright?”

“Don’t worry, it happens more than you’d think. You’ll get used to the fangs eventually. Look, I’m already healing, no harm done.”

Yennefer shuffles her feet awkwardly though, the easy tenderness and passion of earlier replaced with the overwhelming scent of blood. Tissaia reaches to draw her back in but Yennefer stops her,

“Do you mind if we wait? Please don’t think this is me deciding I’d rather not do this. It’s just…I want to wait until I’ve got more control over my bloodlust. I want to be able to concentrate on you and the feeling of being with you rather than worrying that I’ll snap and turn into a monster.”

Tissaia only smiles, a warm, proud smile that makes Yennefer’s heart sing. She stretches up on tiptoe to press a kiss to Yennefer’s forehead,

“Of course. Take as long as you need. Only promise me you will let me share the wait with you.”

Yennefer nods and lets Tissaia lead her by the hand to her bedroom. Yennefer has slept on the sofa the last few nights, but this will be the first of many where she shares Tissaia’s large four-poster, wrapped in the Elder’s arms. Yennefer has never been one for snuggling, nor for being in someone’s bed without fucking them. But as she settles into Tissaia’s embrace and drifts off, she cannot remember how she ever fell asleep without her.

Tissaia wakes and stretches, taking over the entire mattress as Yennefer has already vacated the bed. There is a clattering coming from the open-plan area and Tissaia starts running scenarios through her head of what Yennefer could possibly be up to this time. No doubt it will result in more priceless items being destroyed but Tissaia finds it does not bother her as much as it once did. This new lackadaisical attitude is further demonstrated as instead of reaching for clothes or a robe, Tissaia just pulls a bedsheet with her and wraps it around herself. It had been by unspoken but mutual agreement that they had started sleeping naked together, some four nights after that first kiss. They still do no more than cuddle with the occasional chaste kiss and the anticipation is building deliciously, Tissaia weak with desire whenever Yennefer’s bare back presses against her chest or she wakes with a slick thigh where it has slid between Yennefer’s of its own accord. But she waits because it is not her initiative to take. She’d been disappointed at not sating herself the other night, at not getting to feel Yennefer writhe beneath her and hear her cries. But the sense of pride and affection she’d felt welling up watching Yennefer take responsibility and decide to be prudent had soon drowned out her grumbling libido. Now, she holds her, content to be the one shepherding her until Yennefer decides she is strong enough. Shaking such philosophical musings from her mind because it is far too early in the morning for them, Tissaia pads into the living area clutching the sheet above her chest and kicking the hem out in front of her.

“Now that’s a sight to raise the dead!”

Tissaia just smirks and walks to the coffee pot, “You’re undead so what would you know?” She pours some into a delicate porcelain cup so thin it is translucent with a spray of rosebuds round the rim then takes a sip before continuing, “What are you up to? I heard banging.”

Yennefer grins and steps aside to reveal an easel with a large blank canvass on it, looking expectantly at Tissaia who remains nonplussed. Yennefer explains,

“It’s for painting.”

“Yes…”

Yennefer gestures enthusiastically, “I’m going to paint you. So, you can see what you look like.”

Tissaia replies guardedly, “You never said you can paint.”

“You never asked. I thought you’d enjoy it – did I make a mistake? Should I not have done it?”

“No. It’s very sweet of you. I’m just not sure I want to know what I look like… it’s been so long. Anyone who remembered me as I was has been dead for centuries. Eternity has a way of making you move on, severing connections before they come to a painful end. I’m not the woman who this face belonged to anymore. Nothing lasts forever, Yennefer.”

Tissaia is taken aback at the speed with which Yennefer crosses the space between them, gripping her upper arms,

“You are beautiful, exactly as you are, here, now. You may not be who you once were. But now, today, you are perfection. Let that be enough? Let me show you what I see when I look at you?”

Yennefer’s face is creased with sincerity and it makes Tissaia’s throat constrict. It has been too long since anyone looked at her that way, since she felt new and beautiful and interesting. After aeons of one’s own company, it is easy to feel worn-out and faded. But not with those eyes roving over her, drinking her in with visible delight. She smiles and nods,

“I’ll just go dress-”

“No! You’re wearing that bedsheet and nothing else, no makeup, no fancy clothes. You do not need it, Tissaia. I will not allow it.”

Tissaia arches her eyebrows at being ordered about but finds herself willing to obey so she settles herself on the sofa at Yennefer’s instruction and shifts until the younger vampire is happy with her pose. She watches as Yennefer ties her hair up in a floaty scarf and rolls up her sleeves revealing supple forearms with muscles twisting subtly underneath coppery skin, tapering in long slim fingers. Tissaia feels her mouth water and scolds herself inwardly. If she is to make it through this sitting, she will have to find something else to think about. Yennefer tucks a paintbrush behind her ear, tapping the handle of another thoughtfully against her mouth before walking up to Tissaia and reaching out,

“May I?”

Tissaia nods and tries to steady her breathing as Yennefer adjusts the sheet so it falls in softer folds, so that the top edge only just covers the start of her cleavage, the side cascading artfully to reveal her ribs and the side of her breast. And then she slowly, painstakingly glides the hem up until Tissaia’s ankles are visible, gently re-arranging them so they cross the way she wants them to. Tissaia asks, only half-jokingly,

“Will I do?”

Yennefer runs her gaze over her reverentially, “Perfection.”

Tissaia blushes, her pale cheeks blooming with a rosy hue that intensifies as Yennefer withdraws the pin holding her hair in place so that it tumbles down around her shoulders. Tissaia bites back a soft moan when Yennefer combs her fingers through it to arrange the strands and waves as she sees fit. At last, Yennefer steps back and nods in satisfaction. Then, crosses to her easel and starts to sketch something, the soft scratch of the charcoal on paper making Tissaia’s scalp tingle pleasantly, Yennefer’s gaze caressing over her as her eyes flick back and forth between the paper and the sofa. And despite the fact they are not touching, not even within arm’s length of each other, it is the most intimate experience Tissaia has even known. And she has experienced a great deal in her long life. There is something searching in Yennefer’s eyes, something that makes Tissaia feel new and undiscovered. Familiar but unknown all at once and she feels herself opening up under it, not just her body as it relaxes into the cushions, as her eyes grow dewy and heavy-lidded, her normally ramrod back and tense jaw easing. But also her emotions, her thoughts, her desires, all unfurling inside her until she is certain she will overflow. Not in a violent, seam-splitting way but the gentle trickle of wine down the side of a glass that has been filled to the brim. Everything within her too much to be contained in one heart.

Yennefer can see the change as it happens before her eyes, watches in delight and fascination as Tissaia softens, becomes warm and rosy, a gentle smile curling at the corner of her mouth, icy-blue eyes mellowing to a bright cornflower with little crinkles at the corners, laughter lines Yennefer has not noticed before. Normally, she’d photograph a subject so that they don’t have to sit for as long, but she finds herself relishing the time and attention she must dedicate to capturing Tissaia’s features. Nothing but her eyes and hands at her disposal. It feels more intimate, more real to do it old-school. And Yennefer commits every detail to memory, the arrow-straight parting of Tissaia’s hair, the arch of her eyebrows and faint parallel lines between them, those damn cheekbones and that sharp jaw, the slope of her nose and the dimple in her chin. Etches it all into her brain as though she were a stonemason wielding hammer and chisel rather than a fine-bristled brush. Because she wants to remember this for as long as she lives, which will be a long time by all accounts.

They sit most of the day, taking breaks to feed and stretch, and as the sky starts to darken, Yennefer has sketched everything and started on some detailing. She throws a cloth over the canvass when the stop, insisting,

“No peeking. Not until it’s finished.”

Tissaia nods solemnly but her eyes sparkle with mischief and Yennefer groans because now she knows what it feels like when she does it to Tissaia. They sleep in each other’s arms as is now their custom and wake the next morning to resume painting. It becomes their routine, painting by day and embracing by night. Tissaia forgets what it feels like to wear clothes, her bedsheet come toga now her daily attire. Yennefer goes to sleep with the image of Tissaia’s nailbeds or her earlobe or some other tricky detail playing across the back of her eyelids. And then, some days later, it is finally finished. Yennefer is endearingly nervous, chewing on a paintbrush handle and hopping from one foot to the other. She turns the canvass to Tissaia and whips off the cloth with a flourish, watching her intently for her reaction. Tissaia stares and says nothing, an unreadable expression on her face and Yennefer stammers,

“It’s fine if you don’t like it…”

Tissaia stands and comes closer, studying the portrait, running a fingertip down the brushstrokes, “Is this truly how you see me?”

Her tone is incredulous, confused and Yennefer’s heart sinks, “I haven’t been able to do you justice.”

Tissaia turns to her, “My dear, you have made me more than I ever thought possible. I cannot remember well enough to judge whether this is an accurate likeness but I have never known someone to depict me so tenderly, so warmly… it is as though you have captured what is inside me, that which I so often struggle to display outwardly… you have made me alive.”

Yennefer reaches for her hands, clasping them in her own, “How can you believe yourself to be otherwise?”

“I do not now. Not since you.” Tissaia reaches to cup Yennefer’s cheek murmuring, “I know you wanted to wait but I do not think I can bear it one moment longer. May I kiss you?”

Yennefer only sighs and lays her palms flat against the small of Tissaia’s back, pulling her in close and bending her head, whispering against her lips, “I believe I will die if you do not.”

Tissaia closes the last breath of space between them with sweet urgency, making no effort to muffle the needy gasp that escapes her. As she wraps her arms round Yennefer’s neck, she feels the sheet slipping but she allows it, delighting in the shivery glide of the fabric down her body and the cool air that hits her bare skin. Yennefer groans and palms up her ribs, across her shoulders, down her arms, round her hips, her hands burning Tissaia everywhere they touch.

“Take your clothes off, I want to feel you against me.”

Yennefer complies, fumbling with buttons even as she keeps kissing Tissaia, staggering backwards towards the sofa. She lands on it and whimpers when Tissaia strips her jeans and underwear from her before settling herself in her lap and pushing her back to lie down. She makes her way down Yennefer’s neck with soft lingering kisses from ear to collarbone, pausing to suck at the notch where she can feel her blood pulsing. She moves her mouth to various spots along Yennefer’s body that seem odd at first. The touches are not unpleasant, but they are not placed in typically erogenous zones. Yennefer puzzles for a moment but then a shiver runs through her as she realises what is happening. Tissaia is pressing her mouth everywhere veins and arteries run close to the skin, her lips and tongue caressing, the barest hint of teeth scraping. The crook of her elbow, her inner wrists, the middle of her calf, along her inner thigh above the knee, and of course under her jaw in the soft tissue of her neck. It should be frightening but Yennefer can see the calm, collected look in Tissaia’s eyes, the miniscule quivering of her nostrils and knows she need not worry. Half-awed at the Elder’s control and half-weeping with the knowledge she is completely, utterly safe, Yennefer arches up into her mouth. It as though Tissaia wishes to show Yennefer she can trust her as well as teach her the best places to find a good blood flow. And while it is one of the more enjoyable lessons Yennefer has had, she feels her customary impatience flaring and pulls Tissaia back up to kiss her again before demanding,

“Take me to bed.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please. Is that what you want to hear?”

“That and the sound of you crying my name as I pleasure you.”

Yennefer longs to melt into her desire but her defiant streak will not allow it without at least some attempt at stealing control, so she purrs,

“Who’s to say you won’t be the one screaming?”

All semblance of Yennefer having the upper hand vanishes as Tissaia growls,

“Oh, I’ll be screaming. I know just what I like and you’re going to give it to me.”

Yennefer whimpers and lets Tissaia pull her to her feet, leading her through to the bedroom and embracing Yennefer tightly. Feeling their breasts, bellies, hips all melding together sends waves through Yennefer and she falls onto the bed, pulling Tissaia on top of her. She spreads her legs to allow Tissaia to rest between them and stiffens when she feels Tissaia’s mound press against her own. Anxious for more she grasps her bottom, making the older vampire groan and begin to rock against her. Tissaia begins to pant a little, her pupils wide and Yennefer cannot quite believe that she is the cause of this, but she delights in it. Tissaia stills for a moment and lets a hand rest on Yennefer’s hip.

“May I touch you?”

In answer, Yennefer takes Tissaia’s hand and guides it down, so it comes to rest at her centre. Her eyes close, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp and she arches herself into Tissaia’s hand as her fingers begin to move. She caresses Yennefer’s folds in long strokes, pressing lightly on the bundle of nerves near the top. Her fingers gather the slick and slide in lazy circles round her clit, her tongue circling round the bud of a nipple in the same rhythm. When Yennefer is taut and straining for more, Tissaia lifts her mouth to whisper,

“Inside?”

Yennefer nods eagerly and moves her fists from where they have been clenching the bedsheets to weave into Tissaia’s hair. She lets out a short cry as Tissaia slides two fingers in and scissors them before pushing in deeper and curling them making Yennefer shiver. Tissaia pauses, anxious not to hurt her but Yennefer pants,

“More. More, Tissaia.”

With a little pressure and a twist of her wrist, Tissaia gets three fingers in and begins to thrust rhythmically, her thumb working on Yennefer’s clit. Yennefer is now moaning and writhing, meeting Tissaia’s thrusts with her hips. She turns her head to press her face into the pillow, but Tissaia reaches up and turns her back.  
  
“Look at me. Let me see you.”

She kisses her hungrily, demanding more from her and it makes the heat in Yennefer’s belly burn even hotter. She puts a hand between them to slow Tissaia down and whispers,

  
“I want to touch you too.”

  
Tissaia nods and adjusts herself so there is space for Yennefer to move her hand on her whilst still pleasuring the younger vampire. Yennefer groans at the feeling as she tentatively pushes her fingers into Tissaia. The sensation of the muscles clenching round her is incredible, she can actually _feel_ Tissaia’s pulse in the heat of her centre. As Tissaia’s eyes roll back in her head and she lets out little breathy moans, she folds over and rests her cheek against Yennefer’s. Yennefer panics for an instant as her jugular hovers tantalisingly over her fangs but Tissaia soothes her,

“Hush don’t let it overcome you. Concentrate on everything else you can feel.”

And she does. She sniffs the scent of Tissaia’s hair, hears her sighs and encouragements, feels her inner walls rippling around her fingers, tastes the bead of sweat trickling down her cleavage, watches over Tissaia’s shoulder the way her spine slopes and her bottom flexes. Tissaia must sense her winning the battle because she kisses her tenderly,

“My beautiful, strong girl.”

And then pulls them both up to a sitting position, her legs wrapped around Yennefer’s waist, hands still moving against silky folds and hot cores. She bends her head to press a wide open-mouthed kiss to Yennefer’s neck and flicks with her tongue before asking,

“May I taste you?”

Yennefer’s eyes widen and she nods without hesitation, summoning the willpower to form coherent sentences,

“And I you?”

Tissaia only smiles and lowers her mouth again, angling her head so her neck is exposed. Yennefer tries to mimic whatever Tissaia is doing to her. Creating a seal with her lips, warming and smoothing the skin with her tongue, using her free hand to steady her lover’s head. Tissaia also slows the hand between Yennefer’s legs, languid strokes replacing the earlier thrusting. Just as Yennefer feels she might start keening with being kept on the edge she feels a momentary sharpness in her neck that is quickly soothed by gentle sucks. It is nothing like when she was turned, that had been all pain and sharp points digging into her flesh, feeling herself being drained without mercy. Tissaia has only used her fangs to puncture her lightly and is savouring small mouthfuls of her, swirling her tongue against the skin and humming in pleasure. Emboldened by this tender ravaging, Yennefer latches onto the pulse point beneath Tissaia’s jaw and carefully sinks her fangs into the vein. Tissaia arches and moans, her sucking becoming more forceful and Yennefer nearly passes out at the taste of her. At the rich, hot, fragrant blood welling between her teeth and flowing across her tongue. As they share their life-essence, their hands pick up speed again, their desire magnified by the rapture of bleeding one another. Tissaia releases her neck and urges,

“More, Yennefer. Take more of me, I give myself to you, I make you my own.”

Yennefer whimpers and sucks harder, thrusting her fingers deeper, finding the rough spot that makes Tissaia cry out. Her hand aches, she is struggling to breathe through her nose and she is dizzy with the thrill of it all, trembling with the effort of controlling her bloodlust but Yennefer pushes through it, determined to make Tissaia fall apart. She pants and winds her hands in Yennefer’s hair,

“Stay with me?”

And it is surprisingly easy for Yennefer to release her neck because more than anything, more than sating her bloodlust even, she wants to reply,

“Forever.”

Tissaia sobs with pleasure as she reaches the crest of her orgasm, shuddering and dissolving into Yennefer’s hands. The sight of Tissaia throwing her head back, brows knotting in concentration and lips still dripping with her blood is what pushes Yennefer into her own climax, falling back against the pillows and crying out. As they tremble and find themselves again, Yennefer nuzzles against Tissaia’s ear and promises again,

“Forever.”


End file.
